Phorknere: Chapter three, Sailing On Kings Orders

Fiction By Kassady // 2/17/2012

Chapter Three


Sailing on Kings Orders








“Phorknere!” Called Phella urgently and panicked, “Get your zatted shirt on!”




Phorknere had to grin, So I'm not aloud to cuss but they are? He chuckled and slipped his leather belt through the little belt rings, three in all.




Phella burst into the room, “Well?! What on earth are you doing? We're suppose to go to the king and your putting on your belt like Mrs. Ugheras the oldest woman in the village of Den!”




“Stop your fussing, I'm almost done,” Phorknere said simply and buckled the belt.




“Get on your shoes!” Phella yelled at him, as he bustled around the room like a distressed maiden.




“I will, I will,” Phorknere muttered with an exasperated sigh.




Phella was jumping up and down by the time Phorknere was done. Swearing every other second, loudly and under his breath.




“Would you stop being an anxious ant that's lost a leg!” Phorknere said with a smile.




Phella pursed his lips, his face going red, his hands clenched into fists as he kept his feet firmly on the ground.




Phorknere waited for a minute wondering if his brother was going to explode into dust if he didn't bounce about like he wanted to.




He did explode with a grab at him, “WELL!? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!” He grabbed Phorknere's wrist and jerked him out the door and unto a horse.




“But I want to ride Aetch!” Phorknere complained, having been pushed on a random brown horse.




Phella glared at him, “Stop your whining! No time!”




Phorknere sighed and readied himself on the strange beast. He didn't know the exact name of the horse, but he was pretty sure it was one of Phella's, which meant that it was probably named after a tree.




Phella jumped into his saddle and quickly kicked his horse. The horse was surprised by its master's impatience and galloped off.




Phorknere sighed again and spurred the horse lazily.




The horse started out walking, and then was spurred into a trot, then a gallop. Then Phorknere became impatient with the backside of Phella, always in his face and spurred his horse into a full out run. The horse was fast enough, but it annoyed Phorknere that it wasn't as fast as Aetch.




The two brothesr raced along, riding into the town.




Women and children screamed, running aside to get out of the way. Men yelled angrily and Mrs. Ugheras shook her walking stick, slowly and angrily.




Phorknere steered his horse through the crowd, trying to avoid running over anyone.




A little boy looked up from his game of marbles, alerted by the yelling and screaming of the people around him.




“FLAKE!” screamed his mother and Flake got up quickly, and moved aside just in time as the brown horses thundered by like lightning.




“BE CAREFUL!” Yelled Phella at Phorknere.




“YOUR THE ONE IN A HURRAY!” Phorknere yelled back.




Ahead loomed the tall bronze gates, guards dozing lightly by it.




Phella reigned in his horse, it slid to a stop.




Phorknere had already slowed his horse down and his horse easily trotted up to were Phella and his horse were panting, covered in dirt and sweat.




“The king is waiting for us!” Phorknere barked at the guards.




The guard in command just blinked at him and didn't say anything.




“Are you deaf?!” Phella yelled at him breathlessly, “His royal majesty Flynnof Ginak has requested us! LET US THROUGH!”




“I'll see a pass,” Said the guard. His voice was gruff and his beard looked like it was shaved with an eating knife.




“See a-” Phorknere began angrily, then he unsheathed his sword in a fluid movement, so quick that the guards didn't have enough time to react.




“Phorknere!” Phella snapped at him.




“Sorry,” Phorknere mumbled and slid his sword back in its sheath.




“We don't need a pass!” Said another guard smiling nervously, “Ickle is just playing with you masters.”




“Am not,” said the gruff old Ickle, “Kings... orders were that no one was aloud in... without a pass, signed by him!”




“Well, we're the kings battle generals! We are both Phork's sons! Let us pass... please!” Said Phella more kindly, but still a bit stern.




“How do I know?” asked Ickle.




Phorknere rolled his eyes in exasperation.




“That's enough Ickle!” said a deep voice from behind the gate.




Then a tall, built figure stepped out of the small door on the side, it was Eellason.




Ickle bowed to Eellason and moved roughly back to a chair by the gate.




All three bothers rolled their eyes at one another and went through the door.




“That soldier is tough! He's very good... but he needs to recognize his fellow officers and men higher then him! I believe once he didn't let the Prince come in and sent him to jail for impersonating the Prince,” Eellason said then chuckled, “Ickle was put in jail for a year till he was forgiven!”




“Serves him right!” Phorknere exclaimed angrily.




“What's going on with the king? He didn't tell me anything when I left to go tell Eorks and get Phorknere,” Phella said in confusion.




“He hasn't told any of us yet!” Eellason said, “He's been waiting for all of us, I'm worried that we're having another challenge from the east!”




“I was afraid of that too!” Phella exclaimed nodding with a grim face.




“Would that mean another war?” Phorknere asked.




“What else?”










Phorknere, Phella and Eellason walked through the large, white wooded doors that led into the throne room. It was impossible to go into the throne room without making a scene. Firstly there were two guards in the front of the door, they weren't just guards, they were also door-waiters, they opened and shut them for anyone that would be coming in and out. Secondly the doors are so huge, that it takes quite a bit of effort to open them, and they usually made a sound that would alert everyone in the room. But today, the doors were kept wide open, so that different people could go back and forth without having to wait forever for the door to open. Lots of servants and officers were running in and out, and their were also nurses. Phorknere caught a glimpse of a man being carried out on a stretcher, carried by two men in white uniforms.




The king was tall and skinny, his face was triangular, with a nose that was just as pointy as his pointy chin. He didn't have many muscles that you could see, though he was strong enough to weld the royal sword.




He sat on a marble dais, with steps that led up to his large marble throne. On his left sat his royal adviser in a very small wooden chair, and on his right Phorkellason stood, arguing with him about something. Below sat the royal chronicler, in his outfit of black to make the king look more attractive and less plain, sense the kings face looked very plain. Behind him a small figure stood, yawning in apparent boredom and picking his nose, was the Prince, and in a corner of the large throne room sat the Queen and her maidens and the Princesses, all sobbing for whatever reason.




“TREASON!” Yelled the king in Phorkellason's face.




“I know your majesty! I know! But how are we suppose to know what exactly happened if you won't tell us!” Phorkellason said in a calm voice that sounded as if he was trying to explain something to a child.




“Where are your other brothers?!” The king exclaimed.




“We're here,” Chorused the three of them.




Phorkellason and the king looked around in surprise, Phorkellason in relief.




Phorkellason bounded down the stairs and hugged Phella and Phorknere, “At last! I was afraid the king would pee his royal pants!”




Eellason smiled ruefully, “Well we wouldn't want that, would we?”




Phorkellason chuckled, “No.”




Eork's, Forks and Phorkey walked up to them and all eight brothers stood in a line, below the king, waiting for him to explain.




“I have been attacked!” Pronounced the king gravely, “Not with swords, or arrows or words... but... poison!” He finished dramatically.




Phella gasped in surprise, and the women in the corner wailed and sobbed even harder.




Phorknere frowned, waiting for more information.




“We have lost a great man! Brave and loyal,” The king said grimly, “Thank the heavens I followed the ancient ways of owning a food tester!”




“Some one poisoned your food, your majesty?” Eork's asked in his deep booming voice.




“Yes! Well... no. Some one poisoned my morning whine-”




The Queen let out a howl of despair and sadness.




“WOULD YOU ORK NEE WOMAN!” Yelled the king at her.




She shut her mouth, sniffing defensively, blinking in a hurt fashion.




The king sighed in the silence and turned back around to the Phorks son's. “This is a great offense!”




“No questioning there,” Forks agreed.




“Its treason!”




“Agreed your majesty,” Phorkellason agreed.




“I've already sent the wine poorer in prison, and the court is going to decide if he is innocent or not tomorrow afternoon. I've also captured the person who put the whine in the kitchen and the person who shipped the whine. Now all I need is the merchant who sold me the whine! It will be the usual man, Boo Lackitson,




“I want all... six of you to find Lackitson and bring him back for trial! I want this person caught before he get's away with killing me again! Phorkellason, I want you to stay here and protect me.”




“Yes, sir!” Phorkellason said, saluting the king, he looked a little disappointed. But turned to his brothers and smiled, “Yelone will be glade,” he said, talking about his wife who usually fussed over him and always was concerned about his safety.




“Now go! Find Lackitson and bring him to me!”




“Where will we find him my lord?” asked Eellason.




“In the Right Bull's Horn,” The king said nodding.




“In the Bull Isle?!” Phorkey exclaimed excitedly.




“Where else!” The king snapped at him.




Phorkey shrugged at the looks he was given by his brothers.




They all stood uncertainly for a moment.




“Well?” Snapped the king, “GO!”






The brother's bowed to Flynnof Ginak and quickly turned and started for the wide open doors.




“You...” Called the king after them, “Youngest boy, whatever your name is!”




Phorknere turned, “Me?”




“Yes, you!” The king exclaimed in exasperation.




Phorknere walked back hesitantly, looking behind him at his brothers for support.




They didn't turn around to look at him.




“Yes, your majesty?” Phorknere asked uncertainly.




“What's your Ufzach name!?”




“Phorknere... sire?”




“Ah yes... Phork... nere. Are you taught?”








“Are you trained!? Has your brothers trained you!?” The king asked in impatience.




Phorknere frowned at the king. He had only seen the king once before, and that was on a holiday. The king had been nice then, merry and kind. He had ruffled Phorknere's hair and kept on calling him “Phorks's slayer”. He was rude even then, he remembered, and held little respect for the younger three boys of Phorks, but now he seemed even ruder. Phorknere decided that he didn't like the king at all. He was rude and not fit to be a king, his manners towards him and his brothers should have been better and he wondered if the sniveling, yawning irrespective Prince behind the king would be the same. “I am trained,” Phorknere said in a low voice, trying to keep the anger and hurt out of his words, “Your majesty,” he added.




The king snorted, “Are you fit to go with your brothers? I can't have you messing things up, you know! This is a matter of urgency!”




“I am fit!” Phorknere exclaimed, a bit too roughly.




The king sneered at him, “I'm not so sure... come! Show me your sword-play!” He snapped his fingers and a servant went out and was soon back with a knight.




The knight looked a bit disheveled, as if he was interrupted while sleeping. His hair was tousled and stuck up in odd angles, his beard was unkempt and his cloths had evidence of food spills.




Phorknere refrained from scoffing loudly at the man and his appearance, instead he looked at the king, with a sarcastic look of horror.




The king looked away and instead looked at the knight, which made him feel angry, “Straighten yourself up!” Cried the king.




The knight ran his hand through his hair, only making it worse, and tucked his tunic into his breeches sloppily, so that the backside was not tucked.




The king threw a hand in the air in exasperation and looked back to Phorknere, “Well!”




“I can beat him with my breath! You can't be serious... your majesty!”




The king puffed out his chest in a dignified way, then he looked away from Phorknere in shame and snapped at the knight, “Well!? Are you going to let him talk about you like that!?”




The knight dumbly shook his head and took out his sword clumsily.




Phorknere sighed, walking up to the knight, he walked around the man twice, looking him up and down. The knight was a few inches taller then him, his sword has obviously not kept well regularly and the knights muscles were scant.




Phorknere drew his sword and went into a stance, waiting for the knight to attack first.




The knight stood, waiting for Phorknere to attack first.




Phorknere waited expectantly. He dropped the tip of his sword to the ground and leaned against his sword nonchalantly, cocking his head at the knight in amusement.




The knight stood uncertainly, waiting for Phorknere to attack.




A grin slid across Phorknere face slowly, as he waited, “Are we going to stand like this all day?”




The knight looked from side to side nervously, licking his lips and moving from one foot to the next in his wide apart stance.




The king sighed in exasperation, “Attack you Ufzach!”




The knight looked at his king in puzzlement then looked back and raised his sword for an overhead swing that would, practically fall on top of Phorknere.




Phorknere watched the sword come down, and didn't flinch as the sword fell through air, an inch away from his body.




The sword clattered to the ground.




The king covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head violently.




“I really should catch up with my brothers, your majesty.... so... good afternoon!” Phorknere bowed and walked out of the throne room, smiling to himself.








“SAIL'S UP!” Boomed Eork's, his throaty, deep, loud voice, perfect for giving orders around the loud ship.




Phorknere clutched the sides of the boat, as it rocked precariously back and forth. He hated sailing, he hated it with a passion. It made him sick, his stomach hurt and his head swim and ache. His stomach was always in knots on ships, tightening and tightening even harder, till he vomited overboard and felt shaky. He hated when his brothers thought it would be better if they sent him up to the crows nest for looking out. He HATED heights, even more then he hated sailing. Both together made him one big body of hatred, sickness and fear.




Phorkey came up to him and slapped him on the back.




Phorknere vomited overboard at that.




Phorkey was about to say something cheerful then he just walked away from his sick brother.




“You alright Phorknere?!” Called Eellason from where he was pull on one of the numerous ropes.




Phorknere glared at him and vomited over the side for his answer.




“Lovely,” Said one of the crew sarcastically.




“He'll get used to it!” Phella called with a laugh as he shimmied down a rope ladder and unto the deck below.




“By the time we get half way he'll have nothing to chuck up!” Said one of the sailors.




“Should we give him some bread?” Asked another sailor.




“Don't waste it on him,” Called Forks.




Eorks called out another order and the sailors moved away from the sails and away from Phorknere to work on whatever Eorks had called for.




Eellason walked up the stairs to where Eorks was standing at the wheel and took over for him, sense Eellason was the first mate, and second in command, when it came to sailing.




Eorks went down the stairs and helped Phorknere down to the lower level of the ship, so that Phorknere could rest... along with a bucket and some bread by his side.




“Call when you come to dry heaves!” Eorks said deeply, “We'll fetch you something, oh and drink water as well.”




Phorknere nodded and then the movement made him vomit again. He looked at the glass of water that Eorks had placed by his hammock and took a sip, quickly after he vomited again.




The ship went on from dawn till afternoon. By one o'clock the ship came into The Bull's Right Horn harbor.




Eorks paid the money to dock there and Forks was sent down to get Phorknere.




Phorknere woke up sore, tired and shaky. He did not feel like taking on any opponents or anyone at all. He felt too weak even to draw his sword or get up.




Forks tossed Phorknere out of the hammock roughly and left Phorknere on the hard wooded planks of the floor to wake up and get ready, “We're here!” Forks said roughly and then Forks walked out again.




Phorknere moaned on the floor boards, trying, but not succeeding in getting up. He felt so sore and weak, every bone, muscle, nerve and joint was aching. He had pins and needles in his hands and feet. His head burned like fire and his stomach was sickest of all.


He just faintly heard footsteps right before he felt himself being lifted up by Phorkey.




“Come on,” Phorkey said softly, cradling his brother. Phorkey walked out into the bright sunshine, carrying Phorknere in his arms and grinning like an idiot. He stepped off the ship and jogged-- still carrying Phorknere-- to the small group of brothers, who were smiling in amusement at their lumbering brother carrying Phorknere like a doll.




“What a baby!” Forks growled, rolling his eyes.




Phorknere struggled out of Phorkey's grasped and rolled out of his arms, gasping and retching on the ground.




Phorkey looked down at his sick little brother in concern, “Oops!”




Eellason frowned, turning north, “Alright! Let's get a move on!”




Eorks, Forks, Phorkey and Phella all nodded, stepping forward to follow their Eellason to go find Lackitson. Phorkey turned uncertainly, looking back at his retching brother who lay on the ground.




“He'll be fine!” Forks called in exasperation, “He'll catch up!” He lowered his voice and muttered to himself, “Sadly.”




Phorkey still felt uncertain of leaving Phorknere there, but his older brother's were becoming farther and farther away and he didn't want to loose them. So he turned, sighing miserably, and jogged after his brothers.




Phorknere looked down at the puddle of sick that had come from his mouth, it wasn't much, and he was beginning to have dry heaves. The sun beat down upon him mercilessly, as he tried to gather his wits and pull himself together. The ground rocked beneath him still, as if the land itself was rocking like the waves. He tried getting up but fell back to his knees. It took about another ten minutes till he was able to stand up and start walking after his brothers.




He strolled slowly, and painfully down the streets, the people and sounds seemed so different then in the village of Den. There was one smell that Phorknere couldn't put his finger on for the longest time, it was familiar in a way, but so different. Then, it hit him... literally. Something slimy, cold and smelly slapped him in the face.




Phorknere was thrown off balance, and he flailed his arms in circles to keep himself upright. He took a few steps back and steadied himself. Looking down he say something shining in the light, and the relation hit him. It was a fish. He kept on smelling fish! He let out a small, weak chuckled and picked it up.




Looking around, he saw a man with a white beard, looking at him with wide frightened eyes. He had a large cart of fish that's scales sparkled in the sun. Phorknere smiled and walked over to the man, holding up the fish for him. The man shook his head and pointed to another man across the street, who also owned a fish market, like the first man.




“Oh!” Phorknere muttered, understanding why the fish had been thrown in the first place.


He walked over to the other man, who was looking at him with the same, wide eyed, frightened, look.


“Sorry!” Phorknere said softly, placing the fish down with the other fish in the cart, he raised his hand in the air apologetically.




The man cringed and stepped backwards in fright.




Phorknere sighed and walked away from the fish carts, deciding that he did not like the smell of fish.




On his way to find his brothers, he ran across a sign that red in fine red letters: Lackitson's Wine and Brewery.


Phorknere sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes with a smile. Oh their SO blind! Phorknere thought to himself with a sly grin.




He waited outside of the shop for a long time, waiting for his brothers to arrive, instead of getting lost in the town himself.




They appeared, weary, two hours later.




Eellason was embarrassed, Eorks was planning, Forks was exasperating and angry, but Phorkey and Phella were just glad that Phorknere was alright and back to himself again.




Phella wrapped an arm around Phorknere's shoulder, “I knew you'd be okay.”




Phorknere raised an eyebrow at him, “You could have at least helped me!”




“I... Well... Yes I could have,” Phella relented guiltily.




Eellason pulled out his sword and examined it momentarily, making sure it was fit and clean, “Weapons check!” He called out to all of them.




They all drew out their swords, and knives. Smiling at the ready ones and sharpening the more dull weapons.




Eellason nodded in satisfaction, “Alright.”




Eorks went through the door first, holding it open from the inside for the rest of the brothers. As before, Phorkey had to squeeze to get in, his large biceps getting in the way.




“Just go sideways!” Phorknere hissed at him.




Phorkey stopped trying to force himself through the door and turned, ducking his head, he was able to step inside. He grinned at Phorknere, “Your brilliant!” He whispered.




Phorknere nodded and walked through the door, standing behind his brothers, waiting for Lackitson to show his face.




All six brothers stood quietly in the front of the shop, handing folded in front of them.




Eellason cleared his throat loudly, “Hello?!”




A shuffling sound followed Eellason's cry and presently a face appeared around the corner, frowning at them.




Lackitson was was small in stature, but also sturdy looking. He had a blond beard, flecked with brown, and his hair was alike that of his beard, except that he was missing some on the very top of his head. He wore a large leather apron, that looked quite similar to the one Eorks usually used in the smithy, except lighter, “Hello?” He said raising an eyebrow at the six tall, very strong, formal men standing in the parlor of his shop. His voice was like wine it's self, sweet but bitter, strong but thin. “May I help you?”




Eellason bowed his head at him and placed his hand casually on his sword like an arm-rest, the other raised in greet, “Are you Boo Lackitson, Son of Lackit and Loo?”




“Yes?” Lackitson said uncertainly, eying the other brothers and their official raiment.




“I am Eellason Phorkson, Son of Phorks and Ella, High General of the Kings War Cousil, Battle Master, Lieutenant and First mate in the Kings Navy, Captain of the Kings archers, Knight, High ranking Officer of the King's guards and friend of the Kings. You are under arrest for possible Treason against the King. You will be put to trail in the Castle of Den,” Eellason said, his chin high in the air, “You can come quietly, or you can come fighting. Either way you are coming with us.”




Lackitson looked nervously from one Phorkson to the next, his gaze lit upon Phorknere and he pleaded with his eyes.




Phorknere looked away angrily.




Lackitson crossed his arms and shook his head, “You have to proof or right to believe that it was me!”




Eellason sighed in frustration, “Fine then... Eorks?” He said and turned to his brother, “You brought the handcuffs?”




Eorks nodded grimly and produced from a satchel he had swung around his shoulder, a pair of iron handcuffs.




“Wait!” Phorknere cried, stepping in front of Eorks, “Wait! Shouldn't we look for evidence?”




Forks sighed, “He's got a point... blast him!”




Phorknere grinned slyly at his older brother, “Thank you.”




Phorkey shrugged and lumbered forward, going into the back, “Well, it would only make sense that more of the poison would be in the barrel set aside for the King.”




Eellason went after Phorkey to help search, calling behind him, “Phella, watch him!”




Phella grinned at Lackitson kindly, “Just so you know, I'm not against you... yet.”




Lackitson's face was like a brick wall, emotionless and cold.




Phorknere patted his brother's shoulder and moved into the back to search the wines as well. He searched around for awhile, noticing that the barrels had labels on them. He finally came to a barrel that was labeled: Special, dire purposes only. He picked it up and carried it to the parlor, calling out to his brothers, “Hey! Look at this!”




They all came into the parlor and looked at the barrel, Phella keeping a sharp watch on Lackitson, who seemed dodgy.




Eellason beamed proudly and patted his brother on the back, “Well Mr. Lackitson, explain this!”




Lackitson looked over at the barrel and shrugged, “It's for when I have nothing left Sir Eellason, you can't blame for keeping something for emergencies. 'Dire Purposes' could mean anything!”




The brothers looked at each other, Forks rubbing his temples.




Eorks stroked his chin thoughtfully, then said in his deep voice, “Well then, you wouldn't mind tasting it for us... would you?”




“Open it!” Lackitson cried in dismay, “But it's for emergencies! If I opened it, it would spoil!”




Forks took up the barrel and tapped a cork, that was sticking out of the barrel, “It's already opened.”




Lackitson opened his mouth and shook his head, he closed his mouth and then glared at Forks, “Fine! Give it to me.”




Forks walked over to where there was some glass goblets hanging on the wall. He took one down and popped the cork out of the barrel, pouring the red wine out into the goblet. Walking back to Lackitson he held it out to him with a sly smile on his face, “Drink it.”




Lackitson reached forward quickly, but not for the goblet, for Forks neck.




Forks swiped away Lackitson's arms like they were a child's. The wine spilled out unto the floor and some of it splashed on Forks vest. Forks was on top of Lackitson, with a knife to his throat, before any of the brothers could even gasp in surprise.




Lackitson's face was a mixture of surprise, horror and fear as he looked into Forks ferocious eyes.




Forks gritted his teeth and glared into Lackitson's face, he sneared and hissed angrily, “You made me spill!” Forks grabbed a handful of Lackitson's tunic and haled him to his feet, the knife still at his throat. “Phorknere... pour me another glass.”




“No!” Phorknere cried gaped at his brother. It was obvious now that the wine was poisoned, but he was still going to make the man drink it.




Eellason stepped in then, “Forks! He has to be brought to court, we can't kill him!”




Forks sighed in frustration and bent his head, “Your right.” He nodded and asked for the handcuffs instead.




Phorknere watched as his brothers put the handcuffs on the criminal... he felt a little bad for the man, it was quite clear that he was going to be killed for treason. It must be hard to know your going to die... Certainly if it's a prolonged death.




Lackitson fell to his knees crying, “Why don't you just kill me now! Please!”




Forks grinned savagely, “Now why would we do that?”




Lackitson's mouth trembled in hatred and he stood up, quickly coming up behind Phorknere and swinging the handcuffs around Phorknere's neck.




All the brothers but Forks, drew a collective gasp on outrage.




One of Phorknere's hands flew to his neck, the air was being drawn out of him, the other went to the knife he kept in his belt.




Phella rushed forward, raising his sword for a cut.




Lackitson backed up, drawling the handcuffs tighter around Phorknere's throat. Then, right before Phella could stab him, Lackitson gasped and fell over.




Phorknere went sprawling with him, and disentangled himself from the chains that held together the cuffs.




“Phorknere!” Called Four worried voiced to him.




Phorknere jumped off of Lackitson, who's side was quickly becoming drenched in his own blood. “Quickly!” Phorknere chocked out, rubbing his sore throat, “Stop his bleeding! Don't you want him alive?”


Phella looked down at the knife that stuck out of Lackitson's side, and he smiled, patting his brother proudly, “Well done Phorknere!


Eellason rushed forward, grabbing Lackitson, he punched his face then looked down at Lackitson's bleeding side, “Alright... who brought the medical kit?”







User login

Please read this before creating a new account.